


The Customer

by fanfictiongreenirises



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Kidnapping, M/M, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-11
Updated: 2017-12-11
Packaged: 2019-02-13 12:16:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12983889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fanfictiongreenirises/pseuds/fanfictiongreenirises
Summary: When Aaron Burr's bookshop gets a new customer, his life is changed inexplicably.(In which John Laurens also waits.)





	The Customer

**Author's Note:**

  * For [captain_trash](https://archiveofourown.org/users/captain_trash/gifts).



> Hope you enjoy =)

It was night. It would have been complete darkness had it not been for the flickering streetlights in the distance. The moon was half-covered by dark clouds, indicating a storm coming.

In the empty street, by the abandoned and broken houses, there were shouts and cries of battle. From far away, flashes of light could be seen and there was a sort of mystical presence in the atmosphere.

There were two very distinct teams on what was evidently the battlefield. The side closer to the end of the street were dressed much like hooligans, with dark clothing and steeled boots complete with blood-red spikes instead of the typical silver. Their hoods covered their faces, making it impossible to distinguish one from the other dozen by anything besides their weapon of choice.

But these weapons weren’t all made of metal. Some of them had what seemed like pure light shooting out of their hands. There were some that were floating. Some were _screaming_ , but their voices were causing much more destruction than a typical human voice would. 

These were not ordinary human criminals.

Luckily, the team assembled opposite them were not ordinary humans either. A few were dressed in uniform, but there were others who looked like they had raided the ‘costume party’ aisle in the cheapest store they could find, and a handful that were there in pyjamas. But they worked as a team, in tandem, and were successfully pushing the opposition back. 

There was a blur and the sound of a loud breeze and a slight man came to a halt right in front of his enemy, his fist raised and aimed for the jaw. The other man fell immediately, the velocity of the approach resulting in a much stronger punch.

Beside him, there was a woman waving her arms around, shimmery silver walls building and collapsing at her command. She wasn’t all offence: walls were appearing between her teammates whenever they looked even the slightest bit in danger.

Dancing around the place wearing a pink, blue, and yellow feather boa and waving macaron ribbons was a tall figure. But the ribbons weren’t merely for show. As if they had a mind of their own – or were being controlled by the user – they moved like a whip, only with more flair, a sort of elegance and grace to the efficient way of taking out the enemy.

There were many more like them, but it seemed like there was a sort of individualism to each of their abilities. No two were alike, much like how no two people had the exact same fighting technique.

 

* * *

  

Aaron Burr had inherited the bookshop a bit over a year ago, when his grandmother had passed and left it to him in her will. He’d never actually stepped foot in the place; his grandmother had bought it after he’d moved out and gone to university, and she had always come to see him rather than the other way around.

Thinking about that, and all the opportunities he’d lost with her, always left a massive weight in Aaron’s gut. Taking over the store – and doing some independent lawyer work on the side, because he’d gotten that degree for a reason – was his way to try and make up for the wasted time.

But running a bookshop was a dream. Aaron lived upstairs above it, and the place was _massive_. They were registered with some council for preserving and restoring old books, but Aaron hadn’t had to deal with any of that yet. Being one of the biggest bookshops in the area, they had a fairly decent flow of customers regularly, and the midnight release crowds were phenomenal. (Aaron had vivid recollections of when Harry Potter and the Cursed Child was released. He was unlikely to forget that experience anytime soon.)

It was a Wednesday, meaning the shop opened an hour later than other weekdays – nine in the morning instead of the usual eight o’clock. Aaron walked downstairs in a robe, cradling a cup of coffee in his hand. While he wasn’t addicted to the point where he couldn’t function without caffeine in his system, he liked to have a quiet drink every morning.

Strolling into the break room – the small area with a kitchen and staff bathroom that also had a few couches and a TV, right behind the register – he blinked at the two figures sprawled before the screen, watching some footage of a fight scene.

“Morning,” he called out in greeting, shrugging out of his robe and putting on the sweater with the shop logo. His grandmother had had a thing about getting decent uniforms for the place, and he’d been privy to plenty of rants about other workplaces.

“Yo!” Jonathan Bellamy, his best friend, called out. He was also holding a coffee mug in his hand; Bellamy was definitely addicted to the stuff, and the sole reason for their coffee supply running out so fast.

“Hey, Aaron,” said Theodosia Prevost, another friend. They’d met in university, having been in the same Legal Studies course and even having a small fling before Theodosia had broken it off, getting married a month later. But she remained one of Aaron’s closest friends, and when she’d moved back into the city looking for a part-time job, he’d been happy to offer one.

Yes, he was very biased with employing people.

“What’s this?” Aaron asked, nodding towards the TV.

Bellamy turned to him, excitement practically leaking from his pores. “It happened last night! Seams took down the baddie squad! It was awesome! Did you see how—”

“Seams?” Aaron questioned, furrowing his brow. He’d kept up with the news, but this rang no bells.

“Yeah, it’s what the Internet’s calling the Class Maintenance Squadron. You know…C-M-S? If you say if fast enough it sounds like ‘seams’?”

“If you say so,” Aaron shrugged. Superheroes were cool, but he didn’t particularly care about them as long as they did what they were meant to and didn’t turn evil. 

He’d read his fair share of comics in his childhood, and he openly acknowledged that they did amazing work, things that ordinary people weren’t capable of, but there were _so many downsides_. They were backed by some invisible organisation that plenty of reputed reporters had tried to sniff out, but to no avail. They were too good at keeping their tracks hidden, and had enough power that others would do it for them as well.

And then there was the fact that, prior to these powerful individuals emerging, the world had had fewer super-powered villains openly targeting civilians just for the sake of getting into a fight. When there was a strong opposition, groups would come and challenge them to boost their own status.

So Aaron wasn’t particularly starstruck when it came to superheroes. He was fine with their existence as long as they lived their lives away from his.

The bell on the door chimed, and their first customer of the day stepped in. 

“Morning, Doris,” Aaron greeted, walking out of the break room. “I’ve got your package. Hold on a moment while we get it out.” 

Theodosia disappeared into another back room where they stored all their deliveries.

“Thank you, Aaron. I can’t believe I left the present until the day before! I’ve never done this before, but you know what?” Doris leaned in closer. “It gives me a huge adrenaline rush. I can see why you kids do it.”

Aaron let out a genuine laugh. “Doris, don’t fall down this hole. You’ll never get out.”

She waved a gloved hand dismissively. “I’ve only got a few years left in me as it is. A girl’s got to get her fun out of life while she can.”

“You’re welcome to join our reader’s club. We have a month of reading the action and adventure genre,” Aaron said with a straight face.

“You’re a hoot, sweetie. I’m going bungie jumping next week!” Aaron’s face must’ve shown his shock – who would voluntarily jump off high ledges for the fun of it? – because Doris let out a laugh. “Oh, here’s Theodosia now.”

“Hey, Doris,” Theodosia greeted warmly. “Here’s the book. Did you want us to wrap it up for you?”

“That’s alright, dear. I have a bag waiting for it at home.”

And that was how the day went. It was rather slow, and there really was no reason to keep three employees in on one day, but Theodosia liked the atmosphere and would stay longer than her shifts and work in the break room, or even upstairs in Aaron’s study.

Bellamy… Aaron had no idea why Bellamy stuck around after hours. He always brought his laptop with him, and would sit around the place typing madly all day. Bellamy worked for some independent technology company, and was always being commissioned to big corporations to do coding or web developing for them. 

But they helped make the vast store feel a little warmer, a little friendlier, and Aaron was lonely these days.

 

* * *

 

“Interesting name,” said a voice from behind Aaron. He finished placing the books back on the shelf and turned around.

“Pardon?”

“‘Equinox Bibliotheca’,” said the freckled man standing by the shelves opposite the counter. He was leaning against it in a way that made Aaron wince slightly, fearful of what could happen if too much pressure was placed against the shelf. “I gotta say, I had to Google that second one.”

“Most people don’t bother,” Aaron told him, smiling his Customer smile.

He shrugged, making his shoulder-length curls bounce slightly. “I like to know everything about a place before I enter.”

Aaron had no response to that. It was a borderline spy-like thing to say (and yes, the part of him that thought this was also the part that had been obsessed with detective work). “Can I help you with something?” he asked instead. 

“Actually, yes.” He pulled out a sheet of paper and squinted at it. “I’m looking for a…here.” He handed Aaron the paper, and Aaron was the one who eyed the small cursive writing. God, it was written beautifully, with each letter a masterpiece…

“Sorry, my friend’s writing is hard to decipher.” The man laughed slightly, a hand rubbing behind his neck.

“No, not at all!” Aaron was quick to reassure. “It’s beautiful. I wanted to take a calligraphy course in school, but I never got around to it. Maybe I should now…” He gazed wistfully at the writing, before his mind suddenly snapped into action. 

“Shit, sorry. I’m wasting time. I’m pretty sure we have the book, but I’ll double check.” He practically bolted behind the counter and shook the mouse to wake up the computer, quickly typing in the complex name of the book.

Freckles leaned against the counter, fiddling with the showcased trinkets that were placed on the side. He paused on a turtle-shaped pen, smile playing on his face before his hand fell back down.

“Okay, we’ve got it. It’s in the back with the other ancient texts.” Aaron gave him a look as they made their way to the back of the shop. “This is really old. They don’t print it anymore, but if a customer comes along asking for a book that’s out of print, we’ll usually order a copy from the organisation we’re with and they’ll photocopy a version and it’ll be pretty much identical to the originals.”

“That’s good,” Freckles seemed unsure of what to do with this onslaught of knowledge, “preserving and keeping old books going, that is. I _will_ fight anyone who says old books don’t have anything to teach us anymore.”

Aaron laughed softly. He hoped this guy would become a regular customer here. “So,” he began, “what brings you here?”

“I heard this is the place if you want old books instantly. I moved here like a week ago, for work,” he explained, “and my friend recommended it, after a lot of Googling. He’d have an aneurysm if he came here.”

“I’m hoping that was a compliment.” 

“Yes, yes, definitely a compliment!” Aaron’s stomach did funny things when this stranger became flustered _. Must be the pretty face_ , he surmised. “I’m John, by the way.”

“Nice to meet you, John. I’m Aaron, the owner of this place.”

They shook hands, John smiling at Aaron the entire time he was at the shop. Aaron didn’t know how anyone had the energy to constantly beam with their whole face – how many calories did he consume in a day? – but he wasn’t complaining. 

“He’s cute,” Theodosia commented, coming up behind him. They watched John go, the book in a bag. “He better come here again.”

Aaron shoved his shoulder against hers playfully. “You’re married, Theo.”

“I’m not!” Bellamy called from the break room. “And I agree. He’s cute.”

“Admit it, Aaron,” Theodosia said with mirth, “you thought he was cute.”

“I didn’t really notice,” Aaron lied.

 

* * *

 

John Laurens crouched beside his friend, clothed in skin-tight but breathable fabric that clung to his body in a familiar manner. This had been his job for years, and he loved everything about it.

Except the stake-outs.

He hated stake-outs.

“For fuck’s sake,” John muttered. “Why do they never do anything interesting…”

They were watching a group of what appeared to be men, judging by their bulky figures, standing around conversing behind a warehouse. _Why is it always a warehouse?_

Next to him, Lafayette smiled, his teeth shining brilliantly in the dim light. He shifted slightly so his weight was concentrated on his calves rather than his knees, elbows resting on the ledge of the roof they were perched on. “What’d you expect, John? The criminal mastermind standing on a stage announcing their plan to the rest of the group?”

“It’d be easier,” John grumbled, mimicking Lafayette’s position. “I hate stake-outs.”

“What, really? I never would’ve guessed. You only mentioned it—”

“—five times,” came a voice directly in their ears. “You’ve bitched about the stake-out five times in the last ten minutes.”

“What the fuck do you mean, ten minutes?!” John hissed. It couldn’t’ve been ten measly minutes.

“I’m afraid so, my dear Laurens. You guys still have about a hundred more to go.” John could practically hear his friend smirking behind the comms unit. He fought the urge to retort back, knowing how important silence was on a stake-out.

And he’d rather start a fight here than risk having to endure another one of these.

“Next time you can come to this,” he whispered instead, making sure to lisp his S’s so they weren’t detected. 

“Because you’d much prefer sitting behind a screen and listening to all the action instead,” his friend deadpanned. “And you say I’m impatient.”

“I’m not impatient!” John protested. “I’m just not a fan of sitting around doing nothing.”

“Shh.” Lafayette waved a hand, hidden behind the ledge. John had no idea when it’d happened, but at some point all the people standing around chatting had snapped to attention.

As they watched, a dark van with tinted windows and a blank numberplate – they would show up as legitimate on scanners, but to the naked eye it was difficult to pinpoint what it was – rolled up. The men standing around were now in a line, awaiting the passengers in the van.

“Alex, you getting this?” John muttered as quietly as possible.

“Yup,” came the distracted reply.

The door of the van slid open, but John couldn’t quite see who stepped out because of his position. He groaned inwardly. They should’ve split up at some point, one of them watching from the roof of the warehouse, but no one had scoped out the place beforehand – they’d only received intel that the group would be here about an hour ago – and this was their best option.

The door of the warehouse opened from the inside, and the group started transferring bags and bags of…

“Candles?” Lafayette whispered. “Are those candles?”

“Looks like it,” John replied in confusion.

Lafayette muttered a string of French under his breath, before getting to his feet. “I have a suspicion, but I need to make sure. We need to go to the warehouse roof.” 

Their progress was quiet but efficient, smooth from countless days of practising both in the field and in the training room. John had been working with Lafayette for a year or so now, ever since Lafayette had moved over from France to join their team. Alex remained increasingly envious of the two of them in the field, but it wasn’t as though he hated his job as the person in the chair.

They finally made their way to the roof beside the warehouse, and Lafayette reached into his pocket and got out a small device. He placed the earphones in his ears, holding the device out in the direction of the window they were peering through, while John kept watch.

He watched as the men unloaded the candles, still in their packaging, and placed them by the far wall. There were at least twenty of them, large enough to burn for a full day.

Lafayette cursed, tugging the earphones out and packing it away. “We need to talk to Washington.”

“What’re they planning?”

“It’s some sort of a sacrifice. Adrienne and I had a whole string a few years back. If they’re having a repeat here, we need to be a step ahead of them the whole way.”

“Dammit… I hate rituals. The mess is unbelievable. Isn’t Adrienne coming in a few days? It’ll be good to have an old pair of eyes.”

Adrienne had been Lafayette’s partner in France, and according to him, they’d been a well-oiled fighting duo. John had to admit he’d been worried about her moving to New York, especially since he’d gotten used to Lafayette being _his_ partner, but now he needed to push that aside and focus on the bigger issue at hand.

Alex had been silent this whole time, but now he spoke up. “Guys, I’ve filled Washington in on everything we know. John, he’s sending you back to that bookstore you went to last time to find…I’ll send you the name; I’d butcher the pronunciation. And Laf, we need the report you filed when this was happening in France.” 

John wanted to sink to the ground and moan and whinge about never getting interesting tasks. But then he remembered the shop, and the handsome face, and suddenly he wasn’t so against his job.

 

* * *

 

Aaron was talking with Bellamy about some book that was coming out in about a month’s time when the doorbell chimed at exactly nine in the morning. He glanced up, wondering which impatient soul had been waiting for the exact minute that they opened to walk in.

“Hi!” said the freckled man from the other day. This time he was wearing what appeared to be a soft Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles onesie. Aaron had no idea what to make of that.

“Is that Mikey?” Bellamy asked excitedly from beside him. Aaron resisted the urge to bash his head against the wall. He’d forgotten about his friend’s TMNT phase.

“Yup! The best one, amiright?” John grinned widely. Aaron would need sunglasses if he was expected to be around him.

“Hell no. Raphael’s the best!” Bellamy folded his arms against his chest, eyes playful.

“Man, I’m gonna pretend I didn’t hear that, ‘cause no intelligent being would _ever_ think Raphael as better than Mikey.” And then, right as Aaron had been ready to walk away, John turned to him and he had a close-up view of his blinding smile. “Who’s your favourite?” 

“Um,” Aaron said intelligently. “I never got into TMNT.”

“He never got into TMNT,” Bellamy said at the same time, shooting Aaron a fond glance.

“You have no idea what you’re missing out on,” John told him, eyes completely earnest. He glanced between Aaron and Bellamy for a moment, and then seemed to jump. “Right! The thing I’m here for…I’m looking for…” He handed Aaron a small slip of paper, fingers making the lightest contact.

“Where do you even hear about these books from?” Aaron murmured, going to the computer and typing in the name. 

“Like I said, work.” John leaned his arms on the ledge, head resting on them and eyes peering at Aaron with an expression he couldn’t decipher. From beside him, Bellamy started coughing. 

Aaron stood on Bellamy’s foot, and the coughs disappeared instantly. 

“Well, we’ve got it. I’ll get—”

“Actually, it’s my turn in the backroom. I’ll get it.” Bellamy walked off before Aaron could say anything else, his posture practically projecting the smirk that Aaron knew was on his face. 

He glanced back at John, who was staring at the shelves behind him. “You guys have a _lot_ of books.”

“It’s a bookshop. We’re supposed to have a lot of books.”

John’s neck went red, the colour reaching up to the tips of his ears. Aaron stared at the way his skin changed colour in a blink of an eye. “No, I mean… I’ve been to a fair amount of bookshops – Alex drags me along – and this place is _huge_ and you guys have all these obscure books that we’d normally order online or as an ebook because they’re never in any of the new shops.”

Aaron’s mind had snagged on ‘Alex’ and he shook himself awake, trying to pay attention to John’s words rather than just the way his mouth moved and how his hands danced as he used them to express himself. “My grandmother set everything up,” he heard himself say. “She had a dream of owning a bookshop and she finally made it happen.”

Before John could reply, Bellamy appeared with a tiny book in his hand. John and Aaron stared at it. 

“Are you sure the title fits on that thing?” Aaron asked drily.

John snorted, glancing at Aaron in surprise, which Aaron was somewhat used to. People were always surprised when they found out he had a sense of humour. Taking it from Bellamy, he flipped through. “At least it doesn’t require a microscope to read.” 

“True, that,” Bellamy remarked, leaning against the wall behind him. Aaron felt a brief moment of panic when he realised that this was Bellamy telling him that the customer business was all his job now.

None of them said anything, John still flipping through the book. After about a second, he looked up and smiled. “Well, this is exactly what I need.” 

And Aaron pushed it through the checkout system, neither of them saying anything as Aaron wrapped up the book securely and handed it to John. 

“See you soon,” Aaron said in his actual cheery voice.

John gave him a wink. “You can count on it.”

  

* * *

 

“Okay, you’ve piqued my interest. What do you even do?” Aaron asked when John came back the very next day, at around midday. He wasn’t wearing the onesie this time, but he had on a thin sweater that gave him sweater paws, and there was a voice in Aaron’s head that sounded oddly like Bellamy giving him a running commentary on how adorable it looked. 

John laughed. He laughed a lot, Aaron noticed. He liked it. “Half the time it’s for me. I’m a history buff, and I was left with this massive inheritance that basically means I can buy hella expensive old books.” He ran a hand through his hair self-consciously, fingers making a smooth trail through his curls.

Theodosia would be jealous. _Bellamy_ would be jealous, and Bellamy’s hair was the same size as Aaron’s.

“Fair enough,” Aaron said. “I mean, look what I did with my inheritance.” He gestured around the place, eyes softening as he looked at the bookshelves. 

Chuckling, John clapped Aaron on the back. He was incredibly open with his touches, shaking hands and fist-bumping and trailing fingers over the spines of books. Aaron was more of a stay-back-and-admire sort of person, who hugged others when it seemed like they needed one. “You could do a lot worse,” John told him. “Alex would _die_ if he came here.”

Aaron’s skin prickled, and he said, “You should bring him here sometime,” instead of asking, “Who’s Alex?”

“Yeah. He doesn’t get out much unless we drag him out.” John probably didn’t realise this, but his voice was different when he talked about Alex. Aaron noticed; as a lawyer, it was important to be able to tell if the client was hiding something. John wasn’t hiding anything – he’d been an open book so far – but there was something about Alex that Aaron couldn’t put his finger on. He hated not knowing.

John left with a book that day – just the one, like he had the last two visits. And Bellamy and Theodosia cackled silently behind his back and Aaron ignored them because John was just another client who’d gotten friendly. He was like Doris. He wasn’t anything special.

But then John was back the next day at nine on the dot and he had another man with him and Aaron had to admit that there was _something_ about John that drew him in. Because for some reason he hated this other guy who was friends with John.

“Hi-I’m-Alex-and-oh-my-lord-I-love-this-place-John-says-you’re-the-owner-please-marry-me-so-I-can-own-it-too,” was the first thing Aaron heard Alex say.

“Nice to meet you, Alex,” he said slowly. He wasn’t awake enough for this, and he felt himself shrink back into his safe distant shell. 

“Aaron – you are Aaron, right? – I don’t know how much Laurens has told you…” ‘Laurens’ must’ve been John’s middle name or surname. Maybe even a nickname. Aaron tuned out whatever it was that Alex was saying; people who talked this much mostly just rambled rather than bringing in new points, in Aaron’s experience.

“We’re looking for this book, here,” John interjected, cutting off Alex with a fond look and sliding a piece of paper over.

Aaron wanted a bucket of bleach to dunk his head into for unknown reasons. He looked at the name, and raised an eyebrow. “We won’t have an original of that, since it was made with some sort of human flesh, but we might have a copy in-store.”

“I really don’t wanna know how you knew that,” Theodosia said, walking up to them from the store-room. “But gross. That’d stink.”

Aaron shrugged as he typed the name into the database. “When you don’t have paper, what can you do?”

“And flesh also has powers of its own,” Alex broke in, sounding like a five-year-old telling their parents about their first day of school. “Some ancient spellbooks were written on human skin because it allowed for spells to be placed on it that would hold stronger than if they were on paper.”

“You learn something new every day,” Theodosia said, smiling at him.

“We have three editions of it,” Aaron read off the screen, doing his best to avoid looking at the sappy couple in front of him. He was being irrational, he knew. He’d only known John for three days. They weren’t friends.

Theodosia leaned over his shoulder. “I can’t believe we have it. Why the fuck do we have _three editions_ of a book no one else has even asked about since this place opened?”

“For fun occasions like this,” John said. “Imagine our disappointment if it hadn’t been here. This place is actually magic, I swear.”

“Okay, which edition did you guys want?” Aaron asked, standing up and looking at them questioningly, expression a blank slate.

John gave him a strange look, but opened his mouth and glanced at Alex, who shoved him forward, hand firmly planted on his shoulder-blade. “John’s the one who wanted to look at it,” John opened his mouth but Alex was already shoving him towards Aaron, “so he should go with you to check them out. I’ll just be here having like fifty book-gasms.”

Which was how Aaron ended up walking to the back-room with John, neither of them saying anything until Aaron opened the door and they slipped in.

“Holy shit.” John’s eyes were wide, taking in everything the place had to offer. “This is amazing.”

There was a musty smell in the air that came from the room behind this one, where they kept the books that actually required preserving. The majority of these were copies, or texts that weren’t very popular.

Aaron walked to a shelf, running his eyes down the letters marked on them until he found the books he was looking for. “Here.”

John took the three, but stared at Aaron with furrowed brows. Aaron refused to acknowledge the flip in his stomach. “Are you okay?”

“What do you mean?” Aaron pretended to be reorganising the books, but there wasn’t much to do.

“You seem…off. Quieter.” John was looking straight at him.

“I’m fine,” he told him. “Just a bit tired.”

“If you say so,” John said after a pause. He grabbed the third edition, and carefully slid the other two back where they had been. Aaron could’ve kissed him right there; when was the last time a customer had come and placed the book back right where it’d been?

They walked out of the room, and immediately there was a shuffle from behind the closest shelf. Aaron could see some movement…maybe Bellamy or Theodosia were there fixing something…?

“What the fuck, you guys,” came John’s exclaim.

And Aaron looked behind to see Alex and Bellamy lying on the floor with a telescope between them, aimed for the ceiling. They slowly got up, brushing off imaginary dust from their clothes.

“Alex _really_ wanted to see the architecture of the roof and test out the telescope,” Bellamy explained a little too earnestly. Aaron saw right through him, and narrowed his eyes. Bellamy continued looking at him with all the innocence of a cat right after it’s broken a vase.

 

* * *

 

John, for reasons unknown, visited the shop alone for the next week or so. He’d stay for a few minutes and then leave, not returning till the next day. Sometimes he was there to buy a book – always ancient and usually in some foreign language – and sometimes he was just there because he could be. 

Theodosia had said, after about a week of meaningless stops to the shop, “He’s totally here for you.”

To which Aaron had replied, “Don’t be ridiculous. He’s probably straight.”

At which point Bellamy had chimed in, “Oh, man, are you blind? He gives you goo-ey eyes _all the time_.”

And Aaron had shrugged, not wanting to continue with this conversation. Because if John really was here because of him, wouldn’t he have made his move by now? It’d been more than a month. He was probably with that Alex guy. Aaron didn't stand a chance next to someone as vibrant and outgoing as him.

 

* * *

 

“Where are you heading off to, Laurens?”

John sighed. He’d been _so close_ to heading out without any of his nosy friends commenting on his daily routine.

Turning around, he propped a hip against the doorframe and quirked his head. “What’s it to you?” he asked playfully.

Alex crammed an entire soggy Weetbix into his mouth and swallowed, wincing as it forced his oesophagus to expand in ways it shouldn’t need to. “Just asking. As a friend. As friends do.”

John raised an eyebrow. “This is why you’re not allowed in the field.”

“What, because I can’t handle an interrogation properly?” Alex looked affronted.

“No, you dingbat, because I can smell something off about you from a mile away.” Folding his arms, John looked at his friend with a smile. “So what’s with this sudden need to know where I’m going?”

“Safety reasons, mon ami,” came an overly cheery voice from the kitchen. Lafayette emerged with a tray of brownies, which were piled on top of what appeared to be cookies. 

“Are those…are you _stress baking_?”

“Yup,” Alex nodded, taking another massive spoonful of whatever concoction of cereals he was having. “Adrienne can’t make it back for another week. She’s dealing with something with that flowery asshole.”

“Excuse you, that ‘flowery asshole’ is my friend. And he’s coming with Adrienne so you two might wish to learn to get along,” Lafayette said pointedly.

He then disappeared into the kitchen again, coming out with a ziplock bag and stuffing in some cookies and brownies. “Here,” he said to John, handing it to him. “For your boy.”

“He’s not my boy,” John muttered, taking it and hoping his face hadn’t lit up like he thought it had.

“Not yet,” came the simultaneous responses.

“Wait!” Lafayette suddenly yelled. “I want to come this time!”

“Um,” was all John had time to say before Lafayette dashed up to the coat rack and picked out the one closest to him. “No?”

“Today is not a day for ‘no’, my dear Laurens. And consider it payment for the baked good.”

John sighed, running a hand through his hair. It wasn’t as though he didn’t like having Alex and Lafayette with him when he went to see Aaron and the others; they just reminded him that his life would never be entirely compatible with Aaron’s. 

 

* * *

 

“You look tired,” Aaron commented hesitantly, wondering if they’d known each other long enough for him to say this.

“Hmm?” John looked up from where his gaze had been drifting off. “Sorry, what was that?”

“You look tired,” Aaron repeated, a little more concern in his voice this time.

John gave him a small smile, fighting a yawn and waving a hand dismissively. “Work stuff. Has me up late. Don’t worry about me.”

 

* * *

 

John raced by, eyes taking in the scene infinitely faster than everyone around him. He could see himself whooshing past the others on the battle field, leaving them cursing or praising.

John’s job was mainly to dart in and out of the place, doing whatever he could to help the actual muscle on the team. He wasn’t one of them, for obvious reasons: his skills were more… delicate. He didn’t have the strength to move anything unless his momentum helped him, and his body was still very much human. He could just move really fast, and basically slow time down\\.

“Whoosh, you there?”

He wasn’t the one who’d come up with the name. He had Alex to thank for that.

“I’m here.”

“Go save Seamstress. He’s in a tight spot about a block to your left.”

“On it, Honey Bee.” John had been the one to name Alex, and it had stuck no matter how much his friend had whinged about it.

He ran as fast as he could to Lafayette, knowing that every second counted in the heat of the fight. But of course, he’d still help on the way; he was going faster than he needed to be, and he knew that Lafayette could handle himself.

John threw a broken shard of glass at a masked villain with a knife to Captain Charisma’s gut, stopping him before he could puncture anything the Captain wouldn’t recover from easily. He ran up one of Defender’s light blue force fields, where she was covering a civilian as he ran to cover, and took out each of the shooters aiming at the magical wall. He knew Eliza couldn’t keep it up for too long under attack.

And then he finally reached Lafayette, who seemed to actually have the situation under control. His battle gear was suited to his power, and it shot out long strands of fabric as he commanded, using it to his whim. It was currently wrapping a burly figure up nice and tight, but still allowing for oxygen.

John smiled, and whooshed away. He loved this moment in battle, where there was that moment of stillness right before he threw himself into the fight, and then it all dissolved into one thing after another and his mind was on autopilot because he’d been in the game for that long—

“Whoosh, Iron Blade needs help!” came a crackly voice through his ear. “North-east of you.”

Quickly turning, he ran.

And before he knew it, he was standing in front of Iron Blade, quickly diverging the path of a flurry of bullets as they neared him. In the meantime, Iron Blade fired his own, and saved John the trouble of having to take out half the opposition.

“Nice,” he said, panting slightly. Contrary to popular belief, he did run out of breath occasionally.

“Thanks for the save, Whooshy.” James Madison clapped a hand on his shoulder lightly, knowing from experience that his friendly pats could dislocate bones.

“Never call me that again.” He shook out the kinks in his back, and touched his earpiece. “Got anything else?”

“Nah, but the Captain wants you all,” replied Alex, munching on something.

“Are you _eating_?” John asked incredulously, picking up James and running them over to where Washington would be. “At a time like this?” 

He could practically hear Alex shrugging. “These cookies are good. Laf’s stress baking has perks.” 

“There better be some left for me,” James muttered from where he was clinging to John, looking faintly nauseas. “I think I’m gonna puke after this.” 

“There won’t be any if I get any of you insides on me,” John warned, running slightly faster.

“Don’t worry, Madison. Laf has this side stash for John’s boy.” John could practically _hear_  Alex smirking.

“You have a boy?”

Great. “No, I _do not_ have a boy.” John didn’t even know why he was still running, but Washington seemed to have disappeared.

“He visits him every day,” Alex told James.

“Oh my god, you totally have a boy. What’s his name?”

“I’m not telling you his name!” John protested.

“Aaron Burr,” Alex said.

“You’re getting the couch tonight,” John muttered. “You’ve got the couch for a month.”

“We don’t even share a bed!”

“I don’t care. James can have your bed. Hell, my stuffed turtle can have your bed. It’s been hogging the covers recently.”

 

* * *

 

“ _Shit!”_

The cup of coffee was falling and falling and there was an ancient book directly underneath it and its pages were already crackly and there were only a few original copies left that were in readable condition and _this was one of them_ and Aaron had told John how he’d been entrusted with it—

John had to do it.

He reached out and grabbed the cup, making sure to get all the droplets with a tissue.

And then he moved at the same pace as others did.

Aaron was staring at him. Lafayette was staring at him.

So it was up to him to break the awkward silence, then. “That was really fucking close.”

Aaron unfroze. “Yeah—yeah, it was. No food allowed in here anymore.” He looked at John with scrutinising eyes. “You have really good reflexes.”

“Thanks. It’s from all the sports I did as a kid. Plus video games.” John gave Aaron an easy grin, and Aaron returned it, turning towards the door.

“Damn, that was like Quicksilver. Or the Flash, if you’re more DC than Marvel.”

Lafayette snorted so hard he almost dropped the coffee again, and Aaron quickly ushered him out.

“I’m a hardcore Marvelite, so Quicksilver all the way,” John replied. He pinched Lafayette to keep him from commenting any further. “How ‘bout you?”

Aaron shrugged. “I’m a fan of good comics and movies.”

“Fair enough.”

“Wow,” Lafayette whistled from beside him. “Not fighting him over comics? You actually like him, don’t you?” 

John shoved him.

 

* * *

 

Aaron woke up and knew it would be a bleak day. For one thing, the sun was hidden behind clouds, and there was a chill breeze in the air. He usually woke to the sound of Theodosia in the break room making herself coffee, but this time there was silence and he felt like he could drown in it.

For another, it was the second anniversary of his grandmother’s death. And the pain and loss had somewhat passed: he didn’t expect a phone call every day and feel it hit every time he realised why she wasn’t calling; there were no pies baking in the oven on weekends and he’d accepted that, even though he missed it; he would never receive another knitted sweater but if she were still here she’d be proud that he’d taken up the craft.

All a freezing shower did was remind Aaron to look for his fuzzy socks, and give him a healthy appreciation for modern technology. He didn’t have much to do before opening for the day, seeing as the week was rather uneventful in terms of literature – even if there were books being released, no one cared.

“Morning, Aaron,” Bellamy was suddenly wrapping him up in a hug. He smelled of…

“Are those hot cross buns?” he asked, voice muffled by Bellamy’s sweater.

“Yup! My gra—we had some lying around the place so I grabbed you a bunch.”

“You’re my favourite.”

And that was how the day started out, with Aaron zoning out at random intervals and eating what felt like his weight in baked products (Theodosia had dropped by with a box-ful of baked goods and Aaron liked to think it was helping).

It was finally the quiet hour of the day, where the flow of customers was practically non-existent, and Aaron and Bellamy were quietly unloading a box of new books. 

“There was that time I convinced you to dress as a mongoose and even paint your face to look like fur for Halloween, and she had a laughing fit when she saw you…” Bellamy laughed slightly, looking at Aaron with a fond smile.

Aaron snorted. “I remember that. I dunno what crap you used but my face was shades lighter than my neck for a week. Everyone thought I’d gotten some weird reverse tan on my face.”

Bellamy waved a hand. “You’re only saying that _now_. At the time you were pretty happy with it.”

“At the time I was just happy I had someone to go trick-or-treating with that wasn’t my grandma.” And Aaron suddenly fell silent, looking back at the memories of his younger self with loathing eyes. He would give a fair bit to have another Halloween with the people he’d lost.

The bell on the door chimed, and the two of them looked up to see John walk in with coffees in hand. “Yo,” he called in greeting, toeing the door so it would close quietly. Aaron loved how John had been to the shop enough times to be familiar with that.

“Morning,” he called, feeling the smile on his face become a legitimate one. Bellamy glanced at him from the corner of his eye, looking relieved. 

“I can smell that coffee from over here, so there better be a cup for me,” Bellamy told John, walking over and taking the one John handed to him with a knowing look.

They made their way over to the reading couch that was placed by the shelves, for customers to make use of. It was one that Aaron had picked out with his grandmother, and the animals printed on it were entirely because she’d had the final say.

Aaron sat down on one side and Bellamy beside him, leaving John to sit next to Bellamy. Aaron found it a little strange, seeing as Bellamy and Theodosia had both been doing their best in the past month to shove them together, but maybe they’d finally realised John wasn’t interested in him and had moved on. The thought stung slightly; even his friends knew he had no chance.

“…and he has _flair_!” Bellamy finished, ranting about something that Aaron had completely missed.

“What’s this?” he asked, placing his chin on the arm Bellamy had stretched out on the back of the couch. Folding his legs up to rest his knees by Bellamy’s ribcage, he made himself into a small cocoon.

John stared at him for a second, eyes almost confused as he glanced between the two of them. “Uh, our favourite superheroes,” he said. 

Aaron let out a laugh. “I’m guessing Bell gave you the speech on why Seamstress is the best?”

“That he did.” John took one last sip, eyelashes flipping down and practically scraping against the rim of the cup. He took the lid off when he wasn’t actively moving around, claiming that it was an insult to not look coffee in the eye as he drank it. Aaron had silently always held the opinion that coffee, had it been sentient, wouldn’t want to look its killer in the face as it was swallowed.

“So who’s your favourite?” Aaron asked, suddenly feeling bold.

John took his time, fiddling with the tiny droplets of coffee remaining in his cup before making eye contact with Aaron, an inscrutable expression on his face. “I’ve always been a fan of Defender,” he finally said.

Aaron hummed thoughtfully. “That was always my grandmother’s favourite.”

“And yours?” John’s voice was slightly different, like this answer really mattered. Aaron hoped he wasn’t one of the diehard superhero fans who had a ride or die relationship with their favourites. 

Because Aaron didn’t have one. “I don’t have a favourite,” he faltered, “because they’re all important. Most people have that thing about liking the superhero they think is better than the others or more important to the fight, but all their skills and abilities are necessary to the effort. You’ve seen the footage from the fights where someone’s missing; it turns out shit. So I like the team together as a whole.”

He hoped John couldn't tell how he would much rather that superheroes existed on another planet.

John was staring at him with something akin to admiration in his eyes, and Aaron felt the urge to duck his head and hide it behind Bellamy (who was pretending he wasn’t noticing the weird tension between the two of them by awkwardly playing with his coffee cup). And then he shifted slightly, leaning more into Bellamy, and John suddenly stood up.

“I actually have errands to run,” he explained, avoiding Aaron’s eyes as he walked to the bin, chucking his empty cup in. “This was fun.” 

“Yeah, we should do it more,” Bellamy said cheerfully, beaming at John full force. It was probably because of the free coffee he’d just had.

“See you soon,” Aaron waved, frowning slightly when John waved back half-heartedly before taking off. “What was that about?”

Bellamy stared at him, before shaking his head and laughing in disbelief.

 

* * *

 

And then, about a week from that day, and around three months since John had started visiting, he disappeared.

It wasn’t like John said goodbye, or acted differently. He was still his cheerful self, and had even made plans with them for the following week. Granted, it had been for an all-out Monopoly match with the three of them from the bookshop, and his two friends. 

But then Tuesday came and went, and John hadn’t come by the store all day. Aaron didn’t linger on it; maybe he’d gotten busy with work? Sickness was always a thing, too.

He forced himself to not think of John on the second day when he didn’t appear, but now it was the third and his mind raced every second the clock ticked closer to closing time and John failed to show. Was he avoiding him? Aaron didn't want to think it - the world didn't revolve around him - but his mind kept going to it.

Aaron could see the looks Theodosia and Bellamy were exchanging behind his back, and he reined himself in. Getting into a fight with them wouldn’t solve anything.

“Want coffee?” Theodosia called from the break room when they finally hit a lull in the customers. There was some young adult novel that had just been released and the customers had been coming and going all day, some even bursting into tears at the sight of the cover. 

“I’m good, thanks,” Aaron replied distractedly, eyeing his phone. He didn’t even have John’s number. He’d never thought about getting it.

There was a sandwich in front of him suddenly. “Your favourite.”

Aaron glanced up to see Theodosia standing in front of him, arms folded and practically daring him to say no to a sandwich she’d made for him. “Thanks,” he told her, trying to look like he was mentally present in the room with her instead of his mind flitting all over the place, trying to decipher exactly what it’d been that had led to John’s disappearance.

“I’ll start closing up,” Theodosia said sympathetically, patting his shoulder as she walked past him.

  

* * *

 

Dark.

It was incredibly dark. 

The only light that he could see was the tiny sliver his mind had tricked itself into thinking was real. He knew it wasn’t. He’d been in situations like this before. 

But that didn’t make it any easier to deal with it.

The air smelled of fish and burning candles.

The ground beneath him was concrete, and so, so cold. He rested his pounding head against it, savouring the temperature. 

 

* * *

 

Aaron woke up to the sound of someone pounding on the door. He squinted in the dark, checking his phone to see the time. After the brief moment of blindness due to the light, he read ‘02:08’.

Slipping on a robe on the tank top and pyjama bottoms he was wearing (sleeping naked made him feel exposed), Aaron wandered downstairs, stopping by the kitchen to grab a knife. Because both Theodosia and Bellamy had keys to the place; they would’ve come upstairs and woken him. He had no other friends that would visit like this, and all his close family were dead.

Aaron made his way down stairs, sticking to the wall and thanking God that he’d decided on wearing socks to bed that night. He carefully stepped over the creaky bit of the staircase, and peered around the corner.

There was a figure hunched over, making their way inside. The door was still open, the wind pushing it back and forth. If the hinges hadn’t been oiled recently, it would’ve been making the most atrocious noise.

“Who’s there?” Aaron called out loudly, patting around his pyjama bottoms to locate his phone. He wouldn’t call just yet; he still had no idea what the situation was.

The figure started to talk, but then plunged into a fit of coughs. Aaron stepped forward, but then stopped immediately, glancing at the wooden flooring in horror. What he’d thought was water, or an illusion of the lighting, was actual blood. There were drops of it everything, and some was smudged together and dragged along the floor.

Aaron's heart sped up. He should call someone. “Are you okay?” he asked cautiously, edging closer.

The figure dropped to their knees, and Aaron slowly walked to them. This could all be a ruse to get money or the valuable books in the back, but he doubted it. The figure would’ve said something by now.

And the back rooms were all triple locked and had a better alarm system than the rest of the store.

Crouching in front of the figure – who, now that Aaron looked closely, was wearing _skin tight_ blue and white clothing... some sort of party, maybe? A sorority group? – he opened his mouth to say something, when he froze.

Because the figure had just glanced up at him.

“John?! Holy shit, what happened to you?!” Aaron didn’t know what to do. He had to get John off the floor, to a hospital—

There was a strong grip on his arm, stronger than he’d thought John capable of. “No hospital,” he gasped, words coming out as a mumble. Had Aaron been speaking aloud? And then he released Aaron, slumping forward again.

“Okay, okay, no hospital. I need to get you on”—he looked around wildly—“the couch.”

And so began the excruciatingly slow process of manoeuvring John to the piece of furniture. Aaron grabbed him by his upper arms, seeing the fabric there still in one piece. It was strangely slippery, and was no help in maintaining his grip.

He didn’t try putting John’s arm over his shoulder; he was clutching his middle with both arms and there was blood leaking out and Aaron wanted no part in helping his bleed out even faster. Instead, he gripped John’s shoulder’s tightly, keeping him up so he only needed to move his legs.

John practically collapsed into the couch when they finally arrived, not even wincing at the impact of the drop. Aaron raced around to turn the lights on, quickly shutting the blinds and hoping their neighbours were asleep. He then went into the break room to grab the first aid kit and a bowl of warm water.

Leaving the water to heat up, Aaron ran back to where John lay. In the light, he looked even worse. His face was pale and drawn, sweat and blood making his usually well-groomed hair a mess. His eyes were still closed, freckles standing out against the unusually waxy complexion of his skin.

And then Aaron’s eyes moved down to his torso, where his wounds lay, and his heart almost stopped. There, beneath his hands and amid all the blood and dirt and ruined clothing, was a symbol that everyone, _everyone_ , was intimately familiar with.

It was the symbol for the CMS combined with a personalised one. Each superhero had the official logo of the team, but slightly altered to include something personal reflecting themselves. Aaron recognised this one. Aaron had seen it numerous times on TV, both in actual fight scenes and during interviews and press conferences. Bellamy had once brought a superhero themed card game to the shop for them to play.

This was one place Aaron had never thought he’d see it. He almost wished he  _hadn't_ seen it, that he didn't have this new knowledge.

But it wasn’t the time to question John. He needed to patch him up.

“John?” He received a small grunt in reply, a blink in his direction. John’s eyes were no longer foggy, but clear with clarity. Taking a breath, he said, “I’m gonna wrap you up now, okay? I’m gonna move your hands.”

John gave a sharp nod, and loosened his tight grip on his torso. Aaron worked quickly, using the surgical scissors (just a really sharp pair of fabric scissors, in this case) to cut the fabric enough so that he could see the wounds properly underneath.

"You're gonna be okay," he muttered as he worked. "You're gonna be fine. You aren't gonna die. You're not allowed to."

"Oh, well, if I'm not  _allowed_ to." John let out a breathy laugh. 

Aaron smiled at him, trying to look reassuring, but then looking back down at John's torso, he wanted to throw up. It looked like a combination of bullet holes (bullets removed) and knife lacerations all over John’s body. He had no idea what to do other than disinfect them and wrap them up. His first aid training only went so far, and at this point the instructor had stressed to  _go to the hospital_.

He had to call someone. 

“John,” he began urgently. “John, I can’t fix you up all the way. Where’s your phone? Do you know Alex’s or Lafayette’s number?” 

John, whose eyes had drifted shut through Aaron’s ministrations, were back on him. He struggled to sit up, and Aaron quickly placed his hands on John’s shoulders to keep him in one place. “Call Alex,” he rasped. “Call Alex.”

“Okay, do you know his number?” Aaron pulled out his phone, ready to key in the numbers John rattled off.

 _“Who is this?”_ came a strained voice from the other end.

Aaron cleared his throat. “This is Aaron—” 

 _“Burr?”_ He could hear movement, as well as Alex calling out something in a language too fast for Aaron to decipher. “ _Where’d you get this number?”_

“John stumbled into my place like a half-hour ago. He’s bleeding all over the place.” Aaron didn’t have time for small-talk.

“ _I’m on my way.”_

And Alex hung up.

Placing his phone back in his pocket, Aaron looked to John, who was staring at him with an expression Aaron had no hope of interpreting at that moment. He licked his lips, unsure of what to say. “I’m gonna get you a glass of water.”

John nodded, and Aaron practically bolted out of the room. 

When he came back, Alex was crouching there by John’s side, speaking to him in a rapid stream of…was that… _Latin?_ How had he gotten in? Aaron really needed to upgrade the security of this place.

Aaron hadn’t heard Latin this fluent since he’d graduated university, but he was infinitely glad he'd taken the class.

“... _fucking glad you’re alive…you wouldn’t believe how long you’ve been gone…and you have to believe me, we were coming to get you out…the captain had figured out where they took you…didn’t leave you to die…”_

And at that moment, it finally sunk in for Aaron that John Laurens was a superhero. He had no idea what to do with this new piece of completely unfamiliar knowledge. What did you do when you found out – not by your friend’s consent – that they were a superhero? 

He would have to question John about it. He couldn’t pretend he didn’t know; he’d seen John in the uniform and John and Alex would both realise that, if they hadn’t already.

He would wait until later.

“Burr, thank you.” Alex looked at him with the sincerest eyes he’d ever seen on the man. He looked bedraggled, worn at the ends, dark circles even more prominent on his face, but there was a new light in his eyes with the relief they showed. 

Aaron nodded, closing the door behind them as Alex half carried John to where there was a dark car waiting on the street.

  

* * *

 

John didn’t come by the next day, but Aaron didn’t really expect him to.

He did, however, receive a text at around midday, which read ‘ _he’s going to be fine’_. 

He saved the number under ‘Alex’ in his contacts.

 

* * *

 

Aaron woke with a start to a pounding in his head and a general grogginess he associated with drinking heavily the night before, which he’d only done once and sworn off it ever since.

He opened his eyes, but he was in a dark room. Blinking, he waited for his eyes to adjust, moving his arm to rub at them. 

Or at least, he tried to, but he found that they wouldn’t budge. 

His heart began racing. They were tied up, possibly with rope, by the rough feel of them. Aaron let out a gasping breath, trying to calm himself so he could breathe properly. He tried moving his feet, but they were strapped down too.

He seemed to be tied to a chair in a room with almost no light. As his eyes adjusted, he could make out other shapes in the place, and what seemed to be other people tied to chairs around him. He opened his mouth to call out to them, to see if anyone knew what was happening, when a door opened and the room was flooded with light.

Aaron shut his eyes immediately, a burning sensation filling them as they were exposed to the brightness. The door slammed shut, and he opened them again, blinking away the water that had developed in them.

The man strutted forward, going from person to person and doing what Aaron could only describe as ‘checking the merchandise’. He never touched them, but his eyes would roam every inch of their person in a clinical manner, assessing their body.

And then he reached Aaron. “What is this one doing here? He’s utterly wrong for the ritual.”

It was as if Aaron had stepped into some sort of action thriller. _Ritual?_ Did they mean to use him in some sort of human sacrifice thing, like villains typically did in movies?

“He’s close to the superhero Whoosh. Capturing him will bring Whoosh to us, and we’ll be able to use him in the ritual,” one of the others, who Aaron had completely overlooked, said.

The man standing in front of Aaron stroked his chin thoughtfully. _How cliché,_ Aaron thought, fighting the insane urge to laugh. “I see.” He waved a hand. “Separate him from the rest. I don’t want him to contaminate the others.”

Aaron had no idea how these people had been chosen. From what he could see, they were a complete mixture of age, ethnicity, gender. The man had been walking around assessing the physical appearance of each of them, so there must be something Aaron was missing…

Suddenly, the bonds around Aaron’s legs loosened, and he let out a muffled whimper as the blood rushed back into them. His body was hauled up, and two people in long black trench-coats stood on either side of him, half carrying him through a door.

Aaron wished his could use this to his advantage. He wished he could do something _action-y_ ; kicking out at the two with his legs and finding a sharp object to cut the ropes on his hands before throwing it at another one of the prisoners and then fighting off all the villains that came his way. But Aaron was no superhero. He’d barely passed his physical education classes. He needed to bide his time.

 

* * *

 

Aaron was sick of biding his time. He had no idea how long he’d been stuck in this storeroom, and he was getting antsy. He’d looked around for anything to help him escape, but the goons had emptied out the place of everything – even the mop that was there – when they’d stuffed him in.

At least he was getting oxygen.

At least he wasn’t being tortured like John had been; he didn't know if he'd cope under that. 

At least he still had time to tell John how he felt, how he wanted more...how he didn't care that John was a superhero. He still wanted something with him.

 

* * *

  

“What do you mean, he’s missing?” John could feel the anger rise up in him as he shouted at Lafayette.

Lafayette raised his hands, trying to placate him. “John, we went to the bookshop, and his friends were there but there was no sign of Aaron. They hadn’t seen him all day. I managed to get them to not call the police, but…” He trailed off, shaking his head. 

“We need to go find him!” John was roughly held back down by an invisible force. He glared across the room at Alex, who was leaning forward on a chair, frowning at the conversation.

“John, you’re in no condition to go out,” Alex said in exasperation. “The best thing you can do now to help is man the comms.”

“Didn’t you just hear me? He’s—”

“We know where the Red Swords are keeping all the people they plan on sacrificing and they’re doing it today. We need to go in and get them out, and maybe Aaron’s part of that group. But we can’t do anything until we save _fifty other people_.” Alex walked up to John. “There are children in there with them.”

John couldn’t say anything. There was a part of him that wanted to let the world burn until he found Aaron, but the calmer, rational side of him knew that what Alex was saying was logical. The safety of the majority outweighed the safety of one. Even if he may have been in love with the one.

“I’m still coming with you,” he argued stubbornly. “I’ll get people out much faster. You need me.”

Lafayette and Alex glanced at each other. “Fine,” Lafayette conceded. “But you only help with evac and leave the fighting to us. And you get out the minute you feel off.”

Those were ambiguous conditions. John nodded.

 

* * *

 

John was probably in over his head, but he regretted nothing - and wasn't that the story of his life. There were streams of light all around him, from both sides. He moved faster than the rest of the world, ensuring that anything aimed at him or anyone on their team would be visible to him long before it hit.

“We got a group at the far end of the building,” said a staticky voice through the comms. It wasn't Alex; he was here actively fighting.

“On it,” John replied, running down to them. 

He’d been doing this for the better part of an hour (or maybe it’d been longer…he’d lost the ability to accurately tell how much time had passed since his powers had manifested).

Grabbing as many people as he could carry in one go, John raced them outside to a small area they’d sectioned off, brimming with their personal medical team. Depositing them, he ran back to grab the rest.

It was incredibly repetitive work, but rewarding nonetheless.

“How many are left?” he asked. He needed this to be over fast. Aaron could be dying.

“Um.” John had no idea who was on comms, but he hated their hesitation. “We only have five left in the building, but there’s someone in a…really small room. Go out that door – no, not that one, the one after that – and keep going. Yeah, stop there.”

John was standing in front of a wooden door labelled ‘store room’, but it seemed to have been emptied, by the looks of all the objects directly outside the place. “Are they spring cleaning or something…” he muttered as he opened the door cautiously.

The room was dark, but the door let in enough light for John to see the man tied to a chair amongst the empty shelves. But before he could go inside, a swarm of arrows aimed at him came. He easily dodged them, frowning. Who would booby trap a simple prisoner? What was their aim?

Looking back at the person in the storeroom, he froze for a whole second – an eternity to someone with the ability to go as fast as he could – before coming back to life.

“Aaron,” he whispered, grunting as bending over put pressure on his wounds. “Aaron, are you okay?”

“John?!” Aaron’s head snapped up. “Weren’t you dying like a day ago?”

“Two days ago. I'm fine now,” John corrected softly. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m good. They didn’t touch me. They wanted me bait for you—” Aaron’s eyes widened as John did the most compulsive thing he’d ever done and kissed him. It was a quick, fast peck on the lips, and tasted of sweat and dirt, but it was the best decision John had made in months.

And then Aaron suddenly broke it off. “You need to get out of here. They’re going to capture you again.” Was his kissing really so bad that Aaron was still going on about this? Or was he with...

“I’ll be fine. I’ve got my man on the comms and he’s looking out for…” John’s voice trailed off.

A group of villains were surrounding him, covering the exit. John sighed, and leapt into action. He began with all their weapons. For all their training and preparations, they somehow forgot that he could still move faster than they could think - not that that was saying much. He then whirled his body around, grabbing them and moving them away from the door. He didn't need them near Aaron. 

Speaking of Aaron... He ripped out the comms and smashed them with his foot, the cracking sound loud in the otherwise silent room. In the blink of a normal human eye, he had Aaron untied and out of the building. He'd promised to leave the fighting to the rest of the team, and that was what he planned on doing.

He didn’t know what to do. Was there a chance their team was compromised? He’d been able to get all the people out, but Alex hadn’t said where they’d gotten the information from about the sacrifice, the number of people, the location…

He raced back inside, leaving a confused Aaron in the hands of Maria, their best medic. He needed to find Alex.

 

* * *

 

There was nothing to do except run around and hope Alex was there, now that he’d destroyed his comms. He spotted Lafayette swinging off the rafters with his fabrics like a trapeze artist, kicking people in the face as he landed. Beside him was a woman wearing a white costume. John had no idea how she managed to keep it clean. She was shooting what appeared to be ice at the enemy, freezing their feet to the ground so they could be taken away. Was this Adrienne?

He spotted Eliza surrounding a group of civilians with her force field, and raced around behind it to grab them. Eliza shot him a grateful look as she then let out a wave of shards. Her powers were interesting in that they could be used to both defend and harm. 

As he ran back into the building, John saw Alex pinned under a Red Sword. He had no idea how Alex had managed to get himself into this predicament; of all their skills, Alex’s was arguably the most useful. He was telekinetic. But he was also the one with the least field experience.

John zoomed up to the villain and jumped, hitting the side of their body with his legs and the force of his speed. They were flung back, and Lafayette wrapped them up in his fabrics. 

Offering Alex a hand, John pulled him to his feet and deftly tugged off his comms and crushed it under his feet.

“What the fuck?!” Alex protested. “Are you an imposter? Did the Swords get a shapeshifter now because that’d be _so_ —”

“I think there’s a spy in our team,” John interrupted. “Maybe I’m being paranoid. But Aaron said that—”

“Wait, _Aaron_?” They stood back to back, keeping away the opposition and shouting over the sound of the battle.

“Yeah, turns out he was kidnapped by these goons to lure me in.” He could feel his face flushing as he remembered kissing Aaron, remembered the feel of his mouth on his. He hoped Alex would think it was just the adrenaline. He cleared his throat. “Which would’ve worked better if I’d known he was here. But that’s the thing; the guy on the comms told me about him, and then Aaron warned me so I ran both of us out, and I have no idea who’s on comms today.”

“It’s that newbie, Benedict Arnold.” Alex frowned. “I need to go talk to the Captain. I think we’re about done here.”

  

* * *

 

Aaron had to tell Theodosia and Bellamy everything. They’d hounded him the minute he’d walked back to the store, demanding an explanation. And he’d never been one to keep things this important from the two people closest to him.

Bellamy’s reaction had been worth the kidnapping.

But now Aaron was curled up on the couch – in the break room, not the one for the customers – and couldn’t stop thinking. His mind was a mix of exhausted panic, but he was too keyed up to sleep. He wanted to talk to John, but he didn’t know how to even start that conversation.

Bellamy had offered to stay with him after hours, but he’d needed time and space. Now he wished he’d let him stay; the silence was even worse. He couldn’t stop thinking about John, about the slightly un-traumatic kidnapping experience that had left him slightly paranoid about going to sleep.

And then there was a timid knock at the door. Looking up and squinting to see if he could make out who it was, he got up and made his way over to the door slowly; his legs were still sore from the rope.

Somehow, he was unsurprised to see John standing on the other side. He looked nervous, like there was something he knew that Aaron didn’t. 

Aaron didn’t say anything; he stood by and gestured for John to enter. John walked in slowly, as though he was unfamiliar with the area. He made his way to the break room, not looking at the place where the couch had been that he’d bled all over.

“Do you want a drink?” Aaron asked, going through the motions of being a good host.

“Do you have anything cold?” John asked, looking at his hands folded in his lap.

“I've got Sprite and mango juice.” Aaron tried to make eye contact with him, but it was hard to do so with someone who was so studiously not looking at him. 

“The juice’ll be fine, thanks.”

And then they delved back into the silence as Aaron got out glasses. He hated the formality between the two of them. Was this about John’s superhero thing? Was he about to be let down slowly?

“You okay?” John asked, his voice giving away more emotion than he’s probably intended.

Aaron realised with a start that he’d been standing in one spot for a whole minute, staring into space as he held the glass in his hand. Shaking his head, he made himself smile. “Fine.”

John didn’t look convinced, but accepted the drink with a polite thanks, moving slightly to allow Aaron more space on the couch. Aaron sat down, and there was enough space for another body between the two of them. It was almost symbolic, in Aaron’s opinion. It was a physical display of all the secrets between the two, all the things they didn’t know about each other (more so for Aaron than John), and the weight of that one tiny kiss that had changed Aaron’s life but had also hadn’t. It had been like a train; they’d been on board for months, and finally reached where they’d always been heading. 

And now was where they found out if their destinations were the same. And Aaron was sick of waiting for John, or fate, to do something. “You’re a superhero.”

John nodded. “Yup,” he said, popping the ‘p’ like a rebellious teenager. 

Aaron let out a breath. “Huh. I didn’t expect you to be so upfront about it.”

“There aren’t really that many rules about keeping identities a secret. We just have to go through a procedure and there’s a background check involved, but if it only impacts you and not the reputation of the team, then they’re chill.”

That…wasn’t how Aaron had thought superhero squads worked. “I expected more…”

“What? A life-or-death contract that forces me to never talk of my work with anyone?” John let out a humourless chuckle. “Yeah, that’s what media makes you think. And it _was_ like that, years ago, but then it became more global and democratic. I’m not saying it’s perfect—”

“Stop, stop,” Aaron held out a hand. “I’m not asking you to justify being a superhero. I’m fine with superheroes—”

John snorted. “That’s a lie.”

“No, I’m fine with superheroes.” Aaron frowned. When had he given the impression that he wasn’t?

“We had that thing with Bellamy, about our favourite superheroes, and what you said about teamwork and shit was touching but you seemed so _uncomfortable_ about it!” John got up with a wince. “And maybe you think you’re fine about the general idea, but there’s something about supers that puts you off. And _I’m_ a super.” 

Aaron ran a hand over his head, feeling the short bristles. “It’s not supers…It’s just that they have powers that ordinary humans don’t have and that’s…”

“Scary?” John looked at him from where he stood across from Aaron, arms folded tightly.

Aaron sighed helplessly. “What do you want from me? The truth or a lie that’ll make you feel better?”

“I want you to not be _afraid_ because I’m a super!” John shouted. He paced away from Aaron, and ran up to him with his speed.

Aaron only saw a blur as John appeared a centimetre away from his face. “Look, I’m not _afraid_ of your powers. It’s just terrifying that there are some people who could so easily be _bad_ , that if your entire team turned evil there wouldn’t be any way for us to stop you – and don’t argue with me about how _that’ll never happen_.”

“I…wasn’t going to say that. Actually, we found yesterday that we have a spy in our team. He’s gone now, thanks to you.”

Aaron didn’t know what to say.

John sat back down beside him, this time facing Aaron. When he didn’t say anything, Aaron said, “Can we talk about it?”

“About what?”

“You kissing me.” Aaron didn’t want to wait. He might lose _this_ if he waited.

“I’m sorry,” John began. “I won’t do it again, and I’m sorry if it’s messed up anything with you and Bellamy—”

“ _What_?”

“Aren’t you two together?”

Aaron laughed. “No. No, he’s like my brother. We literally grew up together.”

“That doesn’t always make you see someone only as a brother.” John shifted slightly. “I had a fling with Alex at one point, and then with Laf before he was with Adrienne…”

Aaron stared at him. So he'd been half right about Alex. “I mean, I’m not surprised, what with your looks.”

John raised an eyebrow, smiling slightly. “Are you saying I’m decent looking, Burr?”

“I’m saying you’re past ‘decent’ to the point where it’s almost _in_ decent.” Aaron should probably never try to sound smooth. “I’m saying I want to take you on a date.”

John’s eyes widened, and he blinked at Aaron in surprise. “A date?”

“Yeah, a date. I don’t want a fling.”

John ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t usually date.”

And suddenly Aaron was unsure again. “We don’t have to…but—”

“No, I want to.” John grabbed Aaron’s hand. “I like you, Aaron.”

Impulsively, Aaron leaned forward slowly while John sat as still as he could, holding his breath. Tilting his head slightly, Aaron touched his lips to John’s. This time, the kiss was different. It was softer, with more affection than desperation. It was filled with promises, of a beginning. It was the start of their new chapter.

**Author's Note:**

> This is based off the prompt: 
> 
> "Aaron Burr takes control of his family's bookstore in New York after his grandmother passes. He's just a normal guy trying to make ends meet. Normal. Nothing unusually here. Anything odd that occurs around him is just a coincidence.
> 
> John Laurens is ready to join the fight against evil and the villains that keep trying to take over the world, or just New York. With his superpowers, he's going to do whatever it takes to help those in need.
> 
> Somehow, Aaron's life gets tangled up with John's, and the world will never be the same."
> 
>  
> 
> Alex's code name is based off of Ms Honey from Matilda.
> 
> The majority of food in my fics are bc I'm having a craving when I write it lol and honestly I wish they made hot cross buns all yr round i MiSs THeM


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